Suicide Kids
by damn expensive eggs
Summary: AU. There's one place where all the suicide kids go. It ain't Heaven, it ain't Hell. It reminds me of prison. We did the crime, we're doing the time. And the time is forever. update 2013: officially discontinued.
1. Introduction

**Author's Note**: Hey, what's up, it's my new multichapter. Hooray!

So, I haven't been able to write anything decent for a long time. I have a million ideas in store and this one is relatively new. I really can't believe I got started on it before anything else, but I like it.

Okay, so, info: This is an AU. I hope you process this. AU, AU, AU. But not, like, super AU where all the kids are like, different ages with different hair and eye colors and they all grew up in Africa and they're now uniting to defeat a supervillain in Ancient Greece. No, it's not that AU. They just haven't grown up with each other. And they're dead. You can deal with that, right? Hope so.

And I really _should not_ be posting this given the condition this overall story is in. It is very, very, very undeveloped. And you should never do that. Don't be like me, kids, and go and post the intro to a story you know nothing about yet. That's kind of what happened with Folie a Deux (Sorry! Sorry, people! I'm working on it! Honest!) but... this is even worse. Intolerable, even. I have my own little SparkNotes for this story in my computer and my little idea book (which I almost had taken away from me in PE today. Goddammit). So, that will sprout into a real plot with more development.I'm posting this mostly for feedback - maybe from your reviews, I'll get more fuel to write overall and I'll know that I'll have people reading this story, too. So, YES! Please review! All you writers out there know how great it is when you see that little review alert e-mail in your inbox. Give a little? :3

Oh, other info. This is an introduction/prologue/foreword by your very own Kenny McCormick. This story will be written (well, it plans to be) in many characters' perspectives, with their own unique voices (really, _really_ unique, or so I'm trying to work with) and background stories. It'll have lots of little hints and mysteries and plotholes and hopefully I can handle it. MULTIPLE PAIRINGS, TOO! We all know how we love the pairings. No hints at which ones just yet. Still working on that.

This is a super long author's note, again. XD I'm sorry. Just jump onto this ride with me and I hope you enjoy the first installment of _Suicide Kids_!

(Oh, and just in case your brain didn't process it during the reading of that awful note - this is in **Kenny's **point of view!)

* * *

_Under the arches of moonlight and sky,  
__Suddenly easy to contemplate why,  
__Why... why live a life?  
__That's painted with pity and sadness and strife?  
__Why dream a dream?  
__That's tainted with trouble and less than it seems?  
__Why bother bothering...  
__Just for a poem or another sad song to sing?  
__Why live a lie, why live a lie?  
__The art of suicide, gritty and clean...  
__Conveys a theatrical scene  
__"Alas, I've gone," she cried,  
__Veins displayed,  
__Melodramatically laid. _

—**The Art of Suicide **by **Emilie Autumn**

* * *

_**Introduction**_

When you commit suicide, you thinking it's all gonna be over. When you commit suicide, you know everybody gonna be better off without you. When you commit suicide, it seems like it's all gonna be A-OK, 'cause you don't got to bother with nothing. You're gone. You don't got to worry about nothing no more, 'cause no dead people gotta worry about getting work done, making decisions, pleasing your folks, and being a good guy all at once. When you're dead, you're dead. You don't even got to haunt no folks. You don't got to float around in some graveyard, looking all sad n' shit 'cause you died in some depressing fashion; you don't need to go and clink your chains or flip some book pages just because it looks creepy. You don't got to do none of that, 'cause you're just chilling in some coffin, six feet under. There's nothing to fear no more. The greatest fear you got is death. When you already got that over with, ain't nothing to worry about.

I know that's what you're thinking. You thinking it's all okay. You thinking it's the easy way out. You thinking it's just you quitting the job you were never good at. Hey, son, that ain't what it like.

There's one place where all the suicide kids go. They just crammed into a little place, and it ain't Heaven or Hell. Yeah, they got a special place for us. It reminds me of one of those juvenile detention centers I been in. We did the crime and we're doing the time.

And the time is forever.

When you get here, it ain't like stepping off no train and checking into a hotel. You wake up here, and it hurts like a mighty bitch. Hell, you don't even wake up. It's a crash landing. When all these kids was thinking about how to do it, where to do it, and what to write in their pussy suicide notes, ain't no one expecting they'd end up here when it's done.

Me? I been here a while. I know how it goes. You only see who you need to see in this world. It might so that this place don't look so populated, 'cause, Hell, son, if we see every suicide kid around up in this place, we ain't gonna get through it. We get a bunch of new kids every day, no doubt. But I think it's 'cause God lets you see who you need to see. You see the people who was meant to be in your life.

Only thing is, they're dead like you.

And every kid who come here got a different story, different background. They're all dead one way or another. They killed themselves, and it shows. Kids be walking around wearing the Hangman's noose around their neck like it's a piece of jewelry. It's not like they can take it off whenever they want, neither. It's like a tattoo. Not only is there a story behind it, but it's something you may as well regret as soon as you get here. Like me, son, I can't do nothing with my right hand no more 'cause I can't let go of the gun. And, Hell, there are lots of things I used to do with that hand.

There are things no one knows about this place. Things like, how it got here, where it is in the universe, if anybody alive out there know about it. And then we're asking ourselves, yet again, why we're here. It's not just 'cause we broke the rules of life. We wasn't supposed to quit it. But we ain't here just for that. Some people are thinking it's a second chance at life, but ain't nothing going on here that's like that. It ain't another chance. This place ain't fun. We get work to do. We got more things to stress about. You don't do it right the first time, you wake up here and you got to do it again 'til you get it right. Maybe it's the work that you get that's the kind you were supposed to take care of when you was alive. Maybe that could be the 'second chance' of it? No one knows. Everybody here say they wishing they could kill themselves again, and again, and again until they know they don't exist. But there ain't no way outta here.

But lots of other brothers say to me, usually them smart ones, that this is a world of What Didn't Happen and What Could've Been. Like when you succeed in the afterlife, it's supposed to guilt you that you didn't succeed in nothing in the real world. Some side of me say that that's true and some other side say them smart guys is shitting me. But whatever they mean, it's not like it gonna lead us to any legit answers around here. I hate it here. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it. And I can't decide which I like more - life, or the afterlife.

Maybe it's the afterlife. Here, there ain't no parents to get on my case, and there ain't none of them dickheads I used to hang out with and there ain't no school, neither. But that don't mean I like it here. I hate it in so many different ways, son, I can't even name them all.

So, maybe this is a world of What Didn't Happen and What Could've Been. What didn't happen to me, and what could've I been? I'm terrified to find out.


	2. Poison

**A/N: **...Welcome back. 8D I can't believe I'm updating this thing. I can't write anything else, gah! I just had a burst of inspiration when I saw _The Lovely Bones_. :D Don't you love it when that happens?  
Hm, I don't know why this is the kind of fic I can write in one sitting. ^^; These chapters are short and fast. I just don't really feel a need to drag them on, for some reason. It's kind of easy, but kind of not really, do you know what I am saying? Kenny's slang was actually harder to keep up here than in the intro. Which is weird because I've actually been hanging around some people who actually talk like that lately - definitely more than I was when I had written the intro. o_o I'm trying to keep his slang to a limit where he doesn't sound like he has a foreign accent or something. XD Because there is a difference between slang and just plain ridiculously incorrect English... kind of. XD

So, these first few chapters are so are all going to be introductory. I know, I know, I already posted an introduction, but I want to bring in all the characters one by one. This chapter, for instance, is Kenny introducing our first appearance. The next chapter is going to be in _that_ character's point of view, and they will introduce the _next_ character after that, and so on and so forth.

So, yeah, not much else to say about this, I think. (: Oh, and it's a Thursday. I believe I posted the intro on a Thursday as well. I remember because I always brainstorm this in P.E. o_o ANYWAY...

Read on! The story's been developed so much more now in my head, and I'm excited... :3

* * *

_Don't make me tear it up,  
__You know I don't give a fuck  
__And I ain't here to shake things up  
__But I got my hand on my gun.  
__(Undead!)_

**—Tear It Up** by **Hollywood Undead**

I. **Poison**

**Kenny's POV**

All I do is watch my moms cry.

I think it's gotta be the most fucked up thing in the whole world that I can see her cry from here. I can't change the channel. When I'm sitting on that ledge, I can see everything. Everything is made of trash. The ground's all dirt. But there be a fucking shitload of trash lunged into it; them piles is stacking high, of dirt, sand and just junk. This world is a fucking junkyard, 'cause we thrown our lives away; our souls is just worthless, trashy junk. This is where we belong, what we deserve.

Sitting on the highest point there be, I can see everything. And ain't nothing uglier than what I see.

My moms. I see her, but it ain't like some HD television - shit's got bad reception, but she still visible. Somewhere in the sky, or beyond that, maybe - fuck if I know exactly where I see her. But only I can. She's still crying. What's it been, six months? Five? Seven? I don't even know no more, 'cause there ain't no sunrise or sunset. Losing track of time is a bitch. With nothing to do but watching your own moms cry, time gets meaningless, if you catch what I'm saying. She's lying on her bed, which is sorta more like just a mattress chilling on a hard wood floor. She ain't crying about me, she can't be - she got other things to cry about. Could be my brother dropping out, my dad going to court for shit. She got so many things to cry about, I be worrying if she wasn't crying.

She gets up. But just a small bit; she leaning on her knees, in the darkness of her bedroom. Just choking up. These faint lights is seeping through the doorway of her room. Some shadow comes up, and I know who it's gotta be.

"Fuck, you're here again?" My pops demands while he stumbles into the darkness, holding that familiar copper bottle of poison in his right hand.

My moms don't respond to him. She just starts whining more, like a cat, what was something my pops always hated about my moms. She's whiny, and weak, but she got a reason, and pops don't even understand that. He only takes advantage of her.

Pops chugs the beer. I want to yell at him. I want to kill him, I want him dead like me—

"You gotta be _shitting_ me." Pops is fuming, you can see it in his face - red, like blood, sweating like it be a thousand degrees. You can tell, he gonna repeat the habit of his. That habit that got my moms cleaning up shards off the wood floor, every day, every night.

The bottle hits the doorframe, loud, hard, fast. My moms is screaming now. Pops grabs her by her hair, and he be screaming up a fucking storm—

And ain't no way I'm fucking watching this.

I left to escape that, and it's here, too. It followed me here, to the place where I try to escape what I left.

It's 'cause suicide's a sin.

And you don't get rewarded for sinning.

I put my head in my only available hand, to look away. It ain't no surprise that even when I try to cover my eyes, I can still see the scene in the center of my palm. When I close my eyelids, I still see it. No escape. I wanna cancel it out, kill it, get away from it. I've been here too long, but I'm not used to it, like you think it be like. Every time I remind myself, _I'm dead,_ I'm surprised to be here. Every time.

I can still hear her. My moms, crying under my pops' control, and my pops screeching cusses all over the goddamn place. I'd run away, but I know it's gonna tail me.

I watch it happen. I have to sit here, and watch my moms get beat. It's punishment. It's the consequence. It's the poisonous sight you wish you never had to see, and left life just so you didn't have to see it. Now it's all I see.

But there's a third scream.

Aside from my internal ones, there be a third scream that ain't sounding like anything I heard before.

At last, the scene fades away, the sounds of moms' and pops' yelling going with it - it's over, for the time being. And all I be hearing is that third scream, which now be the only scream.

It cuts off.

I don't see nobody, nothing. I look around, and the scream come up again. But it ain't even, like... a scream no more. It's like a choke. A wheeze, or a cry. Or all three smashed into one.

Then, I look down. A couple yards below the ledge, and across dunes of dirt, there's a kid.

I can barely see the kid, but it's fucking spinning. It's going crazy, hollering and choking all at once.

But it all cuts off again, and I ain't seeing the kid.

It was there one second, and gone the next - shit's impossible to describe.

So, what I do is, I jump down from the ledge, and skid across a couple lumps of dirt. When I'm at the bottom, the kid's nowhere.

"Come on." I grunt, 'cause I'm pissed now - someone's fucking with me? Hope not.

Standing in the center of five high piles, I'm waiting for the kid to show up again. And apparently, it does - but I only catch a short-ass glimpse of it, before it turns the dirt red and disappears again.

I walk up to this puddle of red that the kid made. I lean down, and I know it's gotta be blood. It vomited blood.

It vomited fucking blood, and now it's gone again... it was just another split second without seeing the kid, then it flashes by again.

And it's on top of me.

Its eyes is _wide_. Fucking wide, bloodshot, dilated, staring into me. It's clinching my shirt for the dear life it don't have. Besides its mouth, which was ringed with the blood it just threw up, the rest of its face was covered with _colors_. Not painted all clowny like at some kid's birthday party, it be messy as shit, splattered and smeared. What, did the kid _die_ getting _high_ sniffing _paint_ or something?

"_Hhhh_—_eee_—_hhaaah_—"

Either way, it's mad scary.

And I can't even tell if it's a dude or a chick.

"_Hhhu_—"

It keeps on _wheezing_ on me. I'd say it's breathing, but it sounds like it don't even got the ability to breathe. Hell, I don't need to breath neither, but I don't _wheeze_.

The grip it got on my shirt loosens, 'cause it's fading away again. Like it can't make up its mind, slipping back and forth between here and some other place... is it tripping between life and death? Hell, son, I think so - he's a new kid. I can tell.

I can't even imagine the pain of flashing between life and death so fast; when I got here, it hurt enough for it to happen _once_. 'Cause I shot myself, right smack in the heart, which ain't what most suicide kids do. They usually put the gun to their head, or their mouth, but they don't know that it's the heart that's the fastest. You don't die right when your brain stop working. It's the heart.

But it's still gonna hurt like a mighty bitch when you get here.

Obviously, this kid chose a slow method, but it's flashing by quick. It's already seen this place, it's gotta snuff it some time in the next few seconds.

It appears, again, pretty much pushed up against a load of garbage on its hands and knees. It coughing up blood, again. But it's stayed longer than it has before - probably, like, eight seconds, it'd be.

"Yo, you here to stay?" I call.

Its only response is, "_ggguuaughh_," because it keep on vomiting. It gonna finish soon, it can't last here forever just throwing up blood that it don't even need.

Now, I think I can tell that this "it" is a "he." And it ain't even the hair that throws me off, it's his face. His face, beside the blood and paint, is mad fem.

The vomiting finally come to a stop, and he looks up at me. If he's done being alive, this is how he gonna look? Blood around his mouth, paint stains all over his face and clothes? He's not even gonna change if they bathe him at his funeral.

His eyes is squinty now, but not dilated no more. Still bloodshot.

Before he can say anything, I gotta be the guy to ask the questions here. I'm like, "How you die?"

He looks at me like I got balls hanging from my chin. Pretty boy here's going wide-eyed as he stands up all slow and shaky. He's like, "Are you… God?" His voice is... odd. It sound like he talking underwater. It must be his throat, since he just spewed an ocean of blood.

The boy's definitely a newbie. He don't know what to do with himself. "Kid," I'm like, "you mistaken. There ain't no God around here. This look like Heaven to you?"

He stares around, clutching his arms around his stomach. He must still be in pain. "Where am I?"

"Not Heaven," I break it to him. "Sorry. You must'a taken a wrong turn."

He sinks down again, only on his knees this time. "Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no, no. Oh, no... oh, geez." He twiddles his thumbs nervously. Something expected, I mean, no one really takes a death so lightly. Especially if it your own. "Jesus, no! I... I thought — ! No! Is... Is this what's supposed to happen? Am I in Heck? Oh, geez, I knew it. I knew..."

_Ahem_. Did he just say _heck_?

"No, you're not in _Hell_." I emphasize _Hell_ for him, because he's gotta know that cussing is the smallest thing he got to worry about now. "You're here with the rest of us. You sinned, and now you here."

He covers his mouth, shocked, I guess. "No! I was, I was supposed to be gone! I... I — !"

"I know how you feel," I say. I try to be kinda comforting, sorta, but I got to remind myself that with my voice, it sound kinda awkward, if not creepy, when I try to be... caring. "You—"

"Who are you?" He demands. "And why are you here?"

The typical questions. "The name's Kenny," I say. "And I'm here 'cause I'm dead like you." I point to the bloodstain on my chest, where my heart used to be, with my gun. "That's why."

From what I seen, which ain't even much, I think this kid got a case of poison. He died slow and painful. I didn't wanna ask him, but it ain't nothing but a hunch for now.

"Kenny," he repeats. "Kenny." And he's shaking again. "Kenny..."

"Yeah," I'm like. "Your name? Unless you didn't have one? Can't remember it?"

"Oh, oh, my name? Yes. I have one. I have two. Wait, three. Two and a half, maybe..." He trails off, muttering something and twiddling them fingers again. Them fingers got the most paint on them - hardly any skin be even visible. "Yes. My name. It's, um... I actually don't know which one is my real name."

I'm having a hard time following this kid. "You don't know which one's your real name? What you talking about?"

He look like he about to break down again. "Please, um, I - I don't want to talk about this. I don't, I, I'm so confused... this... this is all a dream! Yes, I'm just in an imagination land... If I just imagine myself back, then..." He shuts his eyes mad tight, and clenches his fists. Like he really think he can just imagine himself back now?

"That ain't gonna work, kid."

He opens one eye. "...eh?"

"This is _real shit_," I'm like. "You killed yourself for some reason. You wanted to get away from your shitty life. And now you here. And it ain't gonna be fuckin' better, 'cause even though this _ain't_ Hell, it's _like_ Hell - it might be like a fuckin' sub-layer of Hell, but let me tell you, this is _not_ Heaven, and it's never gonna _be_ Heaven. You know all the people that tried to talk you out of it? Not to jump, not to shoot, not to burn, cut, stab, hang? Well, they're fuckin' right. You took a _wrong_ turn, and you _fucked_ up, _just like _me. _Welcome_ to the world of What Didn't Happen and What Could've Been. Enjoy your fuckin' stay."

_Now_ I know I got him crying, blubbering into his paint-stained hands. I could tell he already regretted it. Everyone does. But this guy? He's a pussy. Only God knows what made him work up the guts to come here, but whatever guts he worked up, he spewed 'em all out. So, he got no more, I guess.

"I just — I... K-Kenny?"

"What."

"Do you — do you —" He's hiccupping his words, and it's mad annoying. "—Do you, w-want to know my — my — my name?"

I kind of don't care anymore, but it could be useful. "Sure, if you can spit it out without chokin' up."

"Okay." He nods. "J-Just remember... no matter whose side I'm on, I'm always Butters."

Butters? With a name like that, it ain't a wonder why he killed himself. "Butters. Yeah, okay."

"A-And Kenny? I have a question. It's... it's..." Oh, man, he gonna start crying again? Goddammit. "It's important."

I didn't have no answers, that's for sure. "Shoot."

"What do I have to do to get to Heaven?"

* * *

**  
A/N: **Teehee. :3 I hope that wasn't too confusing or anything. And just so you know, I love ending my chapters like that. Neur.

**THANK YOU **to Imajinacion Reinbou for the junkyard idea. :3

And thank YOU for reading! Please review, I love reviews like you don't even know. I check my e-mail on my phone like once an hour and I get unbelievably excited when I see a FanFiction e-mail, so, make me happy! :D


	3. Freak

**A/N: **WELP WHAT DO YOU KNOW ANOTHER YEAR GONE BY  
I HOPE NO ONE FORGOT ABOUT THIS STORY because I sure did. 8| LOL well you know what I WROTE THIS IN ONE SITTING TOO. And it's short. These are short chapters, I've said it before. I don't know why they're so fast to write and why I didn't do this one sitting IN THE LAST YEAR. Whoops.

It's such a fast read, I'm almost disappointed in it. There's a lot of canon elements too so some things you just have to know already. I kind of don't like it but gguhhhh it's been a year so here you go.

this is Butters so blame Butters if you don't like it

BYE ENJOY THANKS :D

(also, to Reichee: I wish I could say this is your Butters/Bradley prize but it isn't AND I HAVEN'T FORGOTTEN ABOUT IT. BUT THIS HAS DEFINITELY GOTTEN ME IN THE MOOD BECAUSE BRADLEY IS A SWEETHEART AND I'VE BEEN THINKING ABOUT YOUR FIC SO DON'T GIVE UP EVEN THOUGH THE CONTEST WAS LAST SUMMER

I'm a terrible person.)

* * *

_Hello, let me introduce you to_  
_The characters in the show_  
_One says yes, one says no_  
_Decide - which voice in your head you can keep alive_  
_Even in madness, I know you still believe_  
_Paint me your canvas so I become_  
_What you could never be_

_-_**I Dare You **by **Shinedown

* * *

**

II. **Freak**

**Butters**

Golly.

This hurts a whole lot.

I'm still awful certain I'm imagining things. That I'm not dead. That I'm not here. That I was never, ever sad. And I never wanted to be sad to begin with, you know? I used to think I never had a reason. I kept finding reasons. Without sadness, though, I guess there would be none of that extra special room in your tummy for happiness to flutter.

Sadness can only be beautiful for so long.

It sure starts to wind down after awhile. When sadness is all you feel.

I hate the world and all the stinky people in it.

He asked me every day why everyone on the planet was so… stupid. And I didn't know what to say to him. He thought I had an answer. Professor Chaos, I mean. He always told me to hurt people. To bring them down when they brought me down. But I was nothing but nice to those people. Even when they took my Lunchables.

_Freak._

Marjorine liked dancing. And ponies. And dressing up all nice so she'd look like a normal little girl. She always told me to walk out of the house like I was on a runway. And borrow mama's clothes even when they were too big for me.

The first time I got punched and hollered at was when I wore a skirt to school.

_Fag._

Leopold was a dancer, too. Leopold pleased his parents. Leopold never got grounded.

But did he get in trouble when he took the lives of eight people? Responsible for the death of an unborn child and the suicides of the two family members of the deceased?

Leopold died, too.

_Maniac._

My name is Butters, I'm sixteen years old, I'm blood type O, and I don't know who I am.

Well. Thinking about it now, I used to be all those things.

My blood's at my feet. I feel cold. There's a fella named Kenny with blood dripping out his chest in front of me and I'm sure he's awful sore to be dead, too. I obviously ain't in Heaven so I guess I must have done something wrong.

Which is silly. I am sure I was a good person.

But swallowing turpentine wasn't very smart of me.

And I really guess the only reason I'm here is that Bradley wasn't there to stop me. Like I did for him.

And there ain't even a word in the world that can describe how I feel about that.

The turpentine was right in front of me when I was painting. Butters paints. I mean, I paint. I love art. Which is apparently a problem for some people because painting makes me a girl. They said art was for fags. But if I'm somehow a girl, then that's okay. Well, it wasn't. It still ain't. Heck, I don't even—I—well, I'm confused. And I wasn't confused until other people started telling me I was.

The confusion was just a pinch more overwhelming than I could ever imagine.

Imagining. I did that a lot.

But Bradley was always there.

"_I think you're great. I like you."_

"_I like you, too, Bradley."_

Everything is all jumbled in my head. I don't know who Bradley liked.

But he called me Butters. So I'm sure it was him.

Bradley was so confused one day, he almost jumped off a bridge. I wouldn't let him do it 'cause, you know, I like-liked him a lot-lot. And heck, those stinky adults were no help. When he came down, he thanked me. And he hugged me. And he said he wanted to spend more time with me.

When my dad found out what Bradley and I were doing, he beat me. And I guess that wasn't really unexpected.

But it hurt. It hurt a whole lot.

I guess liking Bradley was a bad decision. I think it's funny that people don't understand, though, that I can't control some things.

"_Butters, I think… I think what we're doing is wrong."_

"_How is it wrong?"_

"_It's not normal, Butters. Maybe we should…" He bit his nails. I always told him to stop because it was a nasty habit. "… maybe we should run away."_

"_I don't think that's a very nice idea, Brad. My PJ's are here and everythin'…"_

_Then he laughed. "I like you, Butters."_

He supported my art. He told me everything I painted was beautiful and great. He made me want to keep going, you know?

But no one else did. No one else wanted me to keep going. It's easier to make believe to brush something that hurts you off your shoulders than to let it eat you up from the inside.

Well, I ain't a liar. When years of stinky people and… and… assholes, gang up on you and the things you love, you can't take it anymore. I couldn't stand to look at my art anymore and Bradley wasn't speaking to me and my auntie Nelly died disappointed in my art and my parents were never there for me and when I had the last straw I knew it was over and I—

"I don't know."

That's what Kenny's saying.

"I don't know how to get to Heaven."

—I burned myself from the inside out, and I sure can feel it.

"I never been there."

I'm looking at him real deep-like, and he looks kinda sad now. "Well, I guess we should figure it out, then, huh?" I say.

He doesn't say anything. He shakes his head and walks away. That is kind of rude, I think.

"Where you goin'?"

"There's someone over there," he says, pointing with the pistol.

"We're not alone?"

"Kid, there are thousands of people here."

"I don't see anyone."

"Probably because you don't need to," Kenny's saying as he walks behind this pile of nasty trash. I follow him and he kinda shoos me away, which is also rude.

I follow him anyway.

Slow-like, though, because he runs ahead of me and he's talking to someone who is sitting on the ground. Kenny must be the leader or something because he seems to know plenty.

They speak for a very short time before Kenny comes trotting back over to me. "He's a freak," he just says.

_Freak._

Well, heck, does he have to use the term so lightly? I should say hello.

The person is hunched over. He's kind of a big fella. He's wearing red. I think he's a he, but I ain't so sure. When I get closer, I hear his voice, and he's definitely a he, and he's definitely very big.

"Hello," I say.

He's talking to himself. Very soft-like, looking down at his hand.

Then I hear a voice but his mouth isn't moving. His hand is. The hand has a face, drawn on with marker like I used to do when I was a little kid. Except I couldn't speak without opening my mouth, so I guess that was pretty impressive.

"Can't you see we're having a conversation here?" the hand says to me.

I am very suddenly frightened.

I still think I'm imagining this, and boy, my imagination is going a little crazy.

"Sorry," I apologize to the hand.

"Sorry is a four-letter word with a Y at the end."

"… So it is," I say.

I walk away and decide I don't really ever want to see that again.

* * *

"_Butters."_

"_Yeah, Bradley?"_

"_I wanted to thank you again… for, um, saving my life. It was really great."_

"_There isn't any need to thank me. I was just doin' my part. There ain't no reason you should die for being who you choose to be."_

"… _Thanks."_

_I sat silent for awhile. Then I had a very important question I had to ask him. "Bradley, do I make you happy?"_

_He lit up. "Yeah, yeah, Butters! You, you make me really happy."_

"_That's good to hear. So you shouldn't die for something that makes you happy, just because other people don't think it's normal. I think it's normal to be happy. Does that make sense, Bradley?"_

"_So you're saying I shouldn't die because… because I'm gay?"_

"_I don't think you're gay," I said. "You're just Bradley."_

_He turned away and brought his thumb to his mouth. "Promise me you won't die, okay, Butters?"_

_I nodded and put my hand on his. "I promise."_


End file.
